


005 "romance novels"

by wheel_pen



Series: Iron Man AU [5]
Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fish out of Water, My Pepper is different, Pre-Iron Man, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pepper's love of romance novels is revealed—and soon Tony becomes sucked into them as well. He makes the best of his predicament by texting obscene quotes to Rhodey, who's in a meeting with his boss. "I kind of have an aura of dangerous virility, don't I, Pepper?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	005 "romance novels"

**Author's Note:**

> 1) My Pepper is very different from canon Pepper. Her personality/origin is very different; to separate her from canon Pepper I've given her a new last name and a different hair color.
> 
> 2) The bad words are censored. That's just how I do things.
> 
> 3) Stories are numbered in the order I wrote them, which isn't necessarily the order in which they occur. At some point I'll post a timeline.
> 
> I wrote this series after the first Iron Man movie came out. It's very AU but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play with these characters.

            Obviously I tended to monopolize Pepper's time. She got a week's vacation around Christmas (or as she put it, around the winter solstice), which I thought was unfair. A lot could happen to me in a week, after all, and whatever volunteer they brought up from PR or wherever just didn't cut it. Of course there wasn't as much business for me to attend to around that time of year (Christmastime: not a popular season for buying weapons), and whatever I _did_ have Pepper made all the arrangements for in advance. And the "volunteer" (seemed to be a different person every year) got a hefty holiday bonus for their trouble. So I suppose everything usually went as well as it possibly could, considering that Pepper wasn't there and I was, well, me.

            I didn't know where she went on vacation. "Someplace warm" was all she would say. She turned off her phone, she didn't respond to e-mail, she just dropped off the face of the planet for a week. It was really disturbing. I couldn't even contact her if I really, really needed her, like because the inadequate substitute had forgotten my dry-cleaning and didn't want to go out at three AM to get it. (They went, of course, because I was the Boss. But the energy it took for me to order them could have been spent so much more usefully.)

            I did pay for the vacations, though, because as Rhodey said, the best Christmas gift I could give Pepper was a week away from me. Then if I dug deep into the financial reports Pepper prepared I could figure out where she went after the fact, but it was always different—Mexico, Australia, Florida. Iceland once, for the hot springs, she claimed. So I couldn't even track her down based on past history.

            Otherwise, Pepper didn't take any time off. And since she lived with me she was basically available to cater to my whims 24/7. This seemed like such a natural state of being for me that I forgot how weird it looked to other people sometimes. Personally I would have thought that much exposure to me would be toxic, but Pepper didn't seem to mind. It wasn't like I needed her to _always_ be in the same room, after all.

            "So what _exactly_ do you do with your free time?" I needled her one day, on a long drive to somewhere. "Do you have hobbies? Do you knit? Do you have houseplants?" She seemed to me like one of those people who kept bonsai trees—I could easily picture her slowly but forcefully training the plant to grow in a certain shape, meticulously trimming off a millimeter of leaf here or there.

            "I like to read," she answered instead.

            Figured. If there was ever a 'bookish' type it was Pepper. Don't get me wrong, I _was_ a certified genius, when I was interested in a book I could blow through it pretty quickly. But more often I read the first paragraph—if that—decided it was boring, and chucked it over my shoulder. Just didn't have time for boring c—p, no matter how many people said it was fantastic.

            "What kind of books?"

            "I read a lot about history, and science."

            I snorted. Figured again. "Yes, you seem very non-fictional."

            "Thank you," she replied seriously. "But I also like Westerns, and romance novels."

            I sat up straight at that. "What—romance novels? Like those really fat ones where there's a picture of a half-naked, obscenely well-muscled man on the cover, and a woman who's practically falling out of her top? And they're full of soft-core pornography? Oh my G-d, what a load of c—p! You're not serious!"

            "You seem to know a lot about the genre," she observed coolly.

            I proceeded to tease her mercilessly for the next fifteen minutes. She claimed such tripe was "insightful," a "good source of historical information," and—probably most accurately—"diverting." I had more colorful terms to contribute.

            "Call Rhodey," I ordered. "I want to tell him this." Dutifully Pepper dialed Rhodey's private line for me. "Hey, Rhodey! You won't believe this. Pepper reads romance novels. By the bucketful!"

            " _Wow, that's earth-shattering_ ," my pal replied, in a distracted sort of tone. " _Why don't I call you later?_ "

            "What, are you busy or something?" I asked, slightly miffed by his lack of reaction. Rhodey was, like me, one of those manly military types who ought to scoff loudly at the mediocre femininity of the romance novel genre (okay, technically, I had never been _in_ the military—too much discipline—but I was a kindred soul). "Don't you have a good put-down you'd like me to convey to her?"

            " _Um, I'm kind of in a meeting right now_ ," he answered, sounding like he was mumbling into the phone behind a hand.

            I rolled my eyes. "G-d, I'm sorry. Let me be your excuse to get out of it." I could be very generous with my friends that way.

            " _I don't want to get out of it_ ," he muttered. " _Look, I'll call you back later, okay?_ "

            The problem with Rhodey was he was too soft-hearted, despite being a manly military type. You could bet Pepper would've hung up on me after the first three seconds of the conversation.

            "Who are you in a meeting with? Is it General S—t-Lips? Is he glaring at you now? Rhodey? He's glaring at you now, isn't he? You are so busted, man! Let me talk to him. Come on, hand the phone over."

            Knowing it would do no good to argue with me, I heard Rhodey telling the room it was the much-valued Tony Stark on the line and that I wanted to talk to General Lipschitz. (You have no idea how hard it was to say that name right, especially after a few drinks. Which wasn't the case _now_ , but I'm just saying.) "General! Nice to talk to you again. I hope you're working Major Rhodes hard, he's one lazy SOB." We then proceeded to chat briefly about the new guided missile system Stark Industries was building for the Air Force and I closed with some much-enjoyed witty remarks.

            The phone was handed back to Rhodey. " _Okay, Tony, I'll talk to you later, alright?_ " he said with forced politeness.

            "Romance novels," I repeated, reminding him of the subject of my call. "A closet full of them, like a middle-aged librarian."

            " _Good-bye, Tony_."

            I gave Pepper back her phone. "Rhodey says you give feminism a bad name by reading those things," I told her, but she seemed skeptical.

            "I have one with me," she volunteered unwisely. "Would you like to see it?"

            I grinned hugely at her tactical error—Christmas had come early this year (the _good_ Christmas, where I got presents, not the _bad_ Christmas where there was no Pepper). "Why, yes, I would, Pepper!"

            She reached into her bowling-bag-sized purse and pulled out a fat paperback with a picture of a half-naked, obscenely well-muscled man on the cover and a woman who was practically falling out of her top. I pulled it from her grasp, mockery muscles flexing in anticipation. "So, this guy's supposed to be Native American, I'm guessing?" I deduced from the male figure's none-too-subtle headband and fringed, skintight pants. "Thank G-d he found a Pilates instructor out there in the wilderness! Otherwise he might've had to go and shoot himself a shirt." Pepper merely waited patiently for me to continue. "What's that pose supposed to be? Are they about to throw down and start break-dancing? Is he checking her for spinal abnormalities? Is he going to rip out her throat? Ooh, is he going to bite her like a vampire? Are there vampire romance novels? Oh my G-d, there are! You read them, don't you? G-d, Pepper, I didn't know you were so kinky. Hmm, I kind of like it. Call Rhodey, I want to tell him about this."

            "Major Rhodes is probably still in his meeting," she reminded me tolerantly. More tolerantly than Rhodey would have, had I called.

            "Oh, that's right," I remembered. "Well, text him, them. _Kinky vampire romance._ " Pepper poked at her phone and I had no doubt she would in fact send the message, no matter how derogatory it might be towards her. "Let's move on from the cover models, shall we? _Warrior Moon_. Isn't that what Mel Gibson did in _Braveheart_? Oh my G-d, the author's name isn't _seriously_ Lorelei Chardonnay, is it? Hmm, I think I know a stripper by that name."

            "There's a plot, you know," Pepper prompted gamely. At this point I sensed she might somehow be patronizing _me_ , which didn't seem fair, considering _she_ was the one who enjoyed these things.

            I flipped the book over and doubled my efforts with determination. Unfortunately my own dramatic reading of the summary on the back cover cracked me up several times. I thought my scorn would have been far sharper if I had managed to describe Alondra's "tempestuous spirit and voluptuous body" or Chief Thunder Feet's (seriously, Thunder _Feet_?) "aura of dangerous virility" with a straight face. Pepper merely smiled knowingly and said nothing. "Text _tempestuous virility_ to Rhodey," I demanded, cracking open the book like a ripe, juicy piece of fruit. Or perhaps a soft, stinky hunk of cheese. "'Suddenly, it didn't matter that the enemy soldiers were just on the other side of the ridge. Thunder Feet gathered the trembling white woman into his arms, tenderly kissing the eyelids that were wet with tears, as sweet as morning dew. He felt the fire building deep in his belly, but this time it was far stronger than the mere unslakable lust he had experienced the night before. He wanted to claim this woman for all time, in the ancient tradition of his people, to know her in every way a man can know a woman…'"

            Half an hour later. "Excuse me, sir?" I grunted, not looking up from the book. "We're almost there. Would you like to go over the notes?" I held out one hand, absently, and took the color-coded index cards Pepper had prepared. Then I chucked them over my shoulder, scattering them across the backseat, and turned the page to keep reading. I _did_ look up when Pepper, sighing, crawled across my lap to gather the cards back up, but then again she _did_ have the long, supple legs of a young colt and proudly curved buttocks.

            "Thank you, sir," she replied to my compliment, though I could tell it didn't totally erase the insult of flinging her index cards.

            "Text _proudly curved buttocks_ to Rhodey," I instructed as the car slowed to a stop.

            "Yes, sir. Could I take that, sir?"

            I jerked the book out of her reach, turning my back on her. "I'm almost done with this chapter."

            "There's press outside, sir," Pepper reminded me. "And manly military types." D—n if she didn't look more than a little bit smug at this point.

            I took an uncharacteristic pause. Normally one of my problems was an acute lack of shame. Then again, it was important to be savvy about one's public image. I handed her back the book. "Don't lose my place," I insisted.

            "No, sir," she agreed, tucking the novel away. Then she tapped on the window, signaling Happy to open the door, and I climbed out into the crush of shouting reporters and blinking flashbulbs.

            I ignored the questions being flung at me from the journalists—the press conference was officially scheduled for _after_ the meeting, and besides, a quick perusal of the crowd revealed no miniskirts—and kept walking towards the main doors of the looming building. "I kind of have an aura of dangerous virility, don't I, Pepper?" I mused thoughtfully.

            "No, sir," she replied politely. " _Senility_ , maybe."

            I was hurt by her derision but immediately saw a way to turn it to my advantage. "Text _General S—t-Lips—an aura of dangerous senility_ to Rhodey," I told her. With any luck he'd still be in the meeting.

 

            _Later that evening, in the Rhodes household (or so I imagined)…_

            Major James Rhodes and his family sat at their polished wooden kitchen table, enjoying a home-cooked meal and discussing the events of their day with much gentle laughter and thoughtful counsel (those events that weren't classified, anyway) as the lights above them cast a warm, golden halo around their heads. It was a scene that Norman Rockwell might have painted, only with black people.

            Suddenly Jim's phone—kept beside him on the table, in case of national defense emergencies—beeped, indicating an incoming text message. His wife Rae paused her comment of thoughtful counsel worriedly, watching his face for clues. Had the day finally come when she had to rush the children down to the basement while her husband ran off to stymie an alien invasion?

            The look on Jim's face became one of mild irritation as he glanced at the phone, recognizing the sender. Rae relaxed slightly—mild irritation surely meant a nuclear bomb hadn't detonated anywhere nearby. "It's just Tony again," he sighed, shaking his head. He'd already told his wife how his charming but mischievous longtime friend had harassed him all day with moderately obscene text messages, including during an important meeting with his boss. "I'm going to have to call him later."

            " _After_ supper, right?" Rae requested/suggested/insisted, while correcting the table manners of one of their adorable young moppets. Even though Rae respected her husband's friendship with the dashing billionaire and secretly found him appealing in a forbidden, dangerously virile way, she also thought Tony was a self-destructive, juvenile egomaniac who actively tried to be a bad influence on her noble, straight-arrow husband.

            "Oh yeah, of course," Jim agreed immediately. Although he normally found his friend's antics amusing in a shameless, devilish way, the joke had worn thin after he'd choked on his coffee upon reading a particularly derogatory remark about his boss, who was sitting across the table from him at the time. Though, deep down, he actually admired Tony's absurdist creativity and eagerly anticipated discovering just where the h—l these random phrases were coming from. After supper, of course. And possibly after the children were read their wholesome stories and tucked into bed, because he had a feeling this conversation might not be suitable for their ears. Given that the latest text message read, _Dark as sin and twice as tempting._

 

            Meanwhile, I sat at home scarfing Chinese take-out and blowing through Pepper's rather paltry collection of romance novels. "You're going to buy some more of these tomorrow, right? I can't believe you only own a dozen of them! What's wrong with you? Shouldn't you have crates of them squirreled away?"

            Pepper looked down at my head resting on her lap, having just finished texting another message to Rhodey. "I'll buy some more tomorrow," she promised. "I usually just get them from the library."

            "Okay. I don't want any weird ones, though. No vampires or dragons or aliens or anything," I insisted.

            "You're not interested in alien sex?" Pepper asked, with a tiny smirk. "Well, don't worry, you'll work up to it. Regency romances are like gateway drugs. You'll be hardcore before you know it."

            I _knew_ she'd had a diabolical plan in mind all this time. And it was _so_ diabolical, I didn't even care once it had been revealed. I was undaunted, like the flaxen-tressed heroine of the novel currently in my hands. "Text _Gateway to alien sex_ to Rhodey."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot necessarily take credit for all the romance novel descriptions and phrases.


End file.
